


Sentimental

by BlackKittens



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brothers, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Sort Of, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackKittens/pseuds/BlackKittens
Summary: Baelor, already a father, keeps his youngest brother company while he stands vigil over his and Dyanna's newborn son.





	Sentimental

“He’s so...small,” Maekar eventually declared, expression so baffled as he took in Daeron’s sleeping form from above the cradle that if Baelor didn’t know any better, he’d think it was his brother’s first time meeting his son. Then his nose wrinkled. “Wasn’t Valarr bigger when he was born?”

Baelor cocked his head and rolled one shoulder. “They look about the same to me.”

“Are you sure?” Maekar demanded, though for once there was no harshness to his demand. “Valarr was smaller than I’d thought he’d be, but surely he wasn’t _ this _ small.”

“That’s because you expected Valarr to be the size of a one year old, not a newborn,” Baelor cracked a wry smile at his expense.

He remembered his own first son’s birth, the sudden and unexpected burst of fatherly warmth and pride he’d been filled head to toe with as he properly met Valarr, and how petulant he’d been later when Maekar whispered to Aerys to ask if their nephew was somehow premature, for babes were always bigger than this, weren’t they? The maester present had flatly corrected Maekar before Aerys could answer or Baelor snap in defense. Looking back now, he found his reaction wholly amusing; his youngest brother had had no experience with newborns fresh from the womb to know such a thing, and he’d merely been offended as a new, proud father.

Maekar now frowned, not once taking his eyes off Daeron, whose little fists twitched as he slept. “I recall, brother; but Daeron looks even smaller than he did. Are we even sure he’s healthy?”

Baelor opened his mouth in a small ‘o’ in sudden understanding.

Of course. How silly of him. Here he was reminiscing his feelings towards his eldest’s birth, yet he’d somehow failed to consider Maekar’s. It made complete sense.

After all, Maekar was all of seventeen and a father now, a father to his first child. Baelor almost felt foolish enough to laugh at himself.

This should have been expected. As Dyanna’s pregnancy had advanced through the first year of their marriage, Baelor had found Maekar coming to him more and more with questions and thinly veiled concerns of what to do when their babe was born, what fatherhood was like, and his latest worry during Dyanna’s labor, _ ‘Mother said newborns have soft spots on their head and I should be careful holding our child; what if I drop it and it dies!?’ _ Of course now that Daeron, proudly named after their father, was here, Maekar’s fears had only elevated, not evaporated.

“He’s fine, brother,” he told him with a bit of amusement, remembering his own fretting and how he had commiserated with Father and his memories when both Valarr and Matarys were on their way. Intense nerves appeared to be natural for expecting parents, no matter how many children they already had. Baelor suspected if he and Jena, as well as Maekar and Dyanna, had more children in the future they’d continue to fret during each pregnancy. Father certainly had during all of Mother’s. But Maekar also wasn’t one to let caution go just because the situation had reached its peak. No, he held onto and nursed his worst feelings. “If something were wrong, the maesters would have said so.”

Maekar tore his gaze away from his son to the bed, where Dyanna was still resting. She had fallen asleep an hour or so after the labor, exhaustion overtaking her. That was three hours ago, and the sun was now on its way down the horizon. Baelor imagined she would sleep the whole night and perhaps the whole morning as well; she may not have had as much trouble with the birth as Jena had both Valarr and Matarys’, but childbirth, he had discovered the past few years, was much more excruciating and physically demanding than he had ever known.

“I suppose,” Maekar eventually relented, rushing the words out in a quiet voice, as if speaking to himself. He returned his gaze to Daeron, reaching down into the cradle to hook a wispy lock of brown hair around his finger and rub it with his thumb. “He looks nothing like me, does he? Dyanna’s hair, Dyanna’s eyes.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Maekar scoffed, moving his finger and thumb to hold one of Daeron’s tiny fists instead. “No, it’s perfect. But do you think he’ll grow up looking like the both of us?”

“He might,” Baelor shrugged. “Or he might resemble Dyanna the way I resemble Mother.”

Maekar pursed his lips. “If anyone says one word about him the way they talk about you and Mother - ”

“Mother is the queen and I am the heir,” Baelor interrupted immediately. “They won’t get as much satisfaction out of mocking your boy.”

His younger brother only grunted, retracting his hand.

This, too, Baelor supposed he should have expected. Of course Maekar would worry about this as well.

Dyanna was a Dayne of Dorne and her marriage to Maekar, while pleasing enough to the Dornish side of court, had been the subject of irritable mumblings to the other side. There Father was again, giving too much to the Dornish - despite his three elder sons marrying Stormlands and Vale brides. It was bad enough his wife was a Dornishwoman, one who held to his ear no less! It was bad enough his heir was essentially a Martell, and who could trust that? It was bad enough his first two grandsons were both their father’s sons, for not even their Marcher blood took away all their Dornish features. Now Daeron II’s other half-Dornish son had a whole Dornish bride and their children would be more _ Dornish _ in blood than Targaryen.

No one in their family, aside from when Grandfather Aegon was alive, had ever appreciated the scrutiny Mother had to go through as a foreign princess and then as the queen, nor the way the dissenting side spoke of Baelor’s darker looks. Maekar appreciated it least of all. And he certainly hadn’t been happy when the mutterings towards his betrothal began.

It was natural, Baelor thought, he’d worry for Daeron. And although he restrained himself from doing any more than giving biting retorts when he heard gossip about Mother and himself, about Dyanna and their mariage, if he felt any of the fatherly pride and warmth Baelor had felt at the births of his sons, well...then Baelor had to wonder what he _ would _ do if his own son were cruelly treated for his mother’s looks, not to mention her and Mother’s blood.

But the fact remained that both Maekar and Daeron were far down the line of succession, and would only be pushed farther down when Aerys and Rhaegal married and fathered their own children. Mocking Maekar and Dyanna’s children wouldn’t have the same appeal as tearing down the queen and heir. There, the dissenters had more satisfaction to gain, for he and Mother were more noticeable and therefore more susceptible to gossip. While the cruelty would never entirely disappear for Maekar and Dyanna’s line, the more dynastically unimportant they became, the less interested the court would be in scrutinizing them. He hoped that would at least give his brother some peace of mind, as unfavorable as it was.

Maekar huffed. Perhaps he had no response to that, or simply didn’t deign to, because he changed the subject. “Now that I think about it, Matarys must have been bigger as well; he’s hardly a year old and twice the size of Daeron, I know it!”

“That’s because he’s older,” Baelor snorted playfully, though he was glad for the subject change. Better to fret over size than prejudice. It was less draining to think about. “Infants grow fast.”

Maekar didn’t look convinced. “I think the grand maester should examine him again.”

He flicked his wrist in faux disinterest. “Then go fetch him if that’s what you want. I assure you, he’ll still be breathing when you return.”

Maekar sneered. “You’re not funny. Of course he’ll be breathing!”

“Aye, but I have to tease you,” he grinned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so nervous over something so trivial.”

“My son is _ not _ trivial!” he took offense.

“I didn’t say he was,” Baelor pointed out, grin going nowhere. Ah, that familiar defensiveness he’d been reminiscing earlier. “I mean his size. He’s perfectly healthy and you know it. You should relax, brother; when Valarr was born, Father told me I should cherish the time he was so young and small because before I’d know it, he’d be full grown with children of his own. If you spend so much time wringing your hands, you may blink and suddenly realize you’re now holding your first grandchild.”

Maekar swatted at his arm. “You’re no help! Surely, you had your own...fears...with your boys!”

“Yes, that I would drop them!” he laughed loud. “Unlike you, I took the maester’s words seriously. Valarr was fine, Matarys was fine, and Daeron is fine. You don’t want to wind Dyanna up with your worries when she awakens, do you?”

At that, Maekar slackened. “No, I don’t. But how can we be _ sure? _ The maester may have said he was healthy hours ago, but babes can die any time. They don’t even need a reason, Baelor, they can simply die of nothing sometimes! What if I do leave to fetch a maester and by the time I return, he _ has _ stopped breathing? I’d come back and my son would already be dead!”

Baelor let the grin slip. There was truth in that. “I’m sorry, brother. I didn’t realize your fears ran so deep.”

Slouching forward, Maekar leaned over the cradle and returned his finger to Daeron’s sleeping form. He traced the bridge of his son’s nose. He pursed his lips in a stubborn pout. “He’s not a day old and this one’s already ruined me, brother.”

“Ruined you how?” Baelor asked, curious.

“I didn’t know I could love him_ this _much,” Maekar murmured, refusing to look up at him and meet his eyes. “I knew I’d love him much, but this is so much more. Do you remember Grandmother Naerys?”

He blinked at the mention of Father’s mother. She had died when they were children of another childbirth in which the babe had perished. Baelor remembered how he’d cried, because Grandmother had always been so kind and sweet to them. “Yes. What does she have to do with this?”

“She’s said to have lost many babes,” he answered quietly. “Women are supposed to be weaker to their hearts and the children are their charges, so it’s understandable how they worry for their babes even as they grow up, and are so distraught when they die. Grandmother lost how many before the final one took her with it? Yet I don’t recall her in constant tears. She smiled, soothed _ me _ when I cried, and carried on with her duties. Right now, I feel as though I would fall apart completely if anything happened to Daeron. Grandmother must have been stronger than I ever thought - and I must be ruined. Is this normal, Baelor?”

He chose now to raise his head, to look him in the eyes with the fearful stare of a younger brother searching for reassurance from his elder brother.

Baelor pressed his lips together in a firm line. He’d heard few, if any, men discuss the loss of a child and how they made them feel. He doubted he’d ever heard another man talk about how he’d feel in the _ hypothetical _ case his child died. It only mattered when the subject was succession, not parenthood. Even when he had spoken with Father before Valarr and Matarys, Father had never confided any fears of losing his sons after they were born.

But Baelor was a father as well, and despite his initial startlement he instantly knew what Maekar was referring to.

He nodded solemnly. “I think it is. I’d rather put myself unprotected and unarmed in front of a sword than hear anything has happened to my sons. My apologies, Maekaer; I didn’t mean to imply that your fears are trivial. I believe they are likely natural.”

“Hmph.” Maekar brushed his thumb over Daeron’s forehead and stood up straight, keeping his hand in the cradle. “I wish you’d warned me. Putting oneself in front of a sword unarmed and unprotected is right.”

Despite himself, Baelor cracked another wry smile. “Do you want to know the best part? It never truly goes away, and hits you in full force again with each child.”

He groaned childishly in response. “Then Daeron shall be our only child. I can’t stomach the thought of feeling this doubly, or triply. My chest may explode.”

Normally Maekar was not one for humor, but Baelor could sense the faint edge of such in his exaggeration. Whatever his fears, there remained so much more joy in the birth of his son in his head and heart. And recalling his boys’ births, Baelor knew for a fact the joy far outweighed the fear.

He clapped him between the shoulder blades and rubbed his back soothingly. “You’ll find a way to learn to live with it, I’m sure,” he teased.

Maekar simply rolled his eyes.

Below, Daeron stirred. His lids peaked open, brown irises tiredly peaking out. The edge of a pink tongue poked out between his lips.

Maekar seemed to forget Baelor was there as he leaned once more over the cradle, his finger running across Daeron’s chubby jawline. Softly, he said, “Hello, there. If you don’t remember yet, I’m your father. I love you.”

When Baelor laughed - it was surprisingly sweet to see his brother so open with his feelings for once - Maekar simply shot him a pink faced glare before picking Daeron up to hold.

“Perhaps I’ll take him to the grand maester myself,” he muttered, patting the babe’s back as he rested against his shoulder. “I do want a second opinion on his size…”

Baelor grinned and ignored the second glare as he followed them towards the door. “I’ll come with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> One thing I'm drawn to when it comes to Maekar's character is how, despite his prickliness, he clearly loves his children and is protective of them. Even if Daeron grows up to be a disappointment in his father's eyes, Maekar doesn't strike me as a Tywin Lannister type whose love is entirely conditional. Being prickly and quick to judge harshly doesn't make him uncaring - far from it, in my opinion.
> 
> Maekar, Valarr, Matarys, and Daeron's birth dates are all unknown, so I headcanon them as 174 (the earliest possible year Maekar was born), 189 (Baelor would have been nineteen, two years after Daenerys wedding - I headcanon him to have been betrothed to Jena a year before and wed a year after to keep the Marcher lords happy, and Valarr comes along not long after), 190 (all we know about Matarys is that he's younger and sweet, that's it; I personally picture him as pretty close in age to Valarr), and 191 (making Daeron 18 by Ashford). So in this fic, it's 191, Daeron is just born, Matarys is about one, Valarr is two, Maekar is seventeen, and Baelor twenty-one years old.
> 
> I'm still getting a handle on these characters, but I'd like to write more for them in the future!


End file.
